


They Just Hit Other Places First!

by asequenceofbaddecisions



Series: Look Out For The Little Guy [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, And I like rain okay, Angst, Arguing, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know when this takes place, Irondad, Let's pretend like after Homecoming, Minor Injuries, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asequenceofbaddecisions/pseuds/asequenceofbaddecisions
Summary: When Peter rocks up injured, everything must be dropped to help him out.(i.e. I refuse to believe that these two can go a day without a mild argument)





	They Just Hit Other Places First!

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Brief descriptions of blood and violence, minor (mostly) injuries

There was something about pouring rain that brought an immense sense of peace to Tony Stark. Maybe it was growing up in the confines of city life, or perhaps his great love of lakes, but any showering water improved his mood by several degrees. On this particular Tuesday, the positivity the rain brought was an influx of cancelled meetings, meaning Tony had a whole day to himself. And of course, he chose to spend it in the lab.

Floor to ceiling windows provided no light, as the charcoal sky covered every inch of the sun. The simmering patter of rain on glass accompanied an absentminded humming to the radio Tony insisted on keeping in the lab. Apparently, analogue sounds better. Forehead wrinkled in concentration; Tony gnawed the pen in his mouth as he adjusted the device under the microscope. Unbeknownst to him, eight hours had passed on this tiny piece of kit, and the rest of the world was entirely invisible.

Because of this focused state, it took him a few seconds to notice the steady vibrations coming from his pocket. Tony threw his phone onto the desk, eyes not moving from the metallic mechanism. “Yah?”

“Tony? Are-Are you home?”

He propelled his wheelie chair across the room to turn the music down, hollering at his phone from a distance. “Yeah, Pete, I’m in the lab – you’ve gotta come see this new nano-hinge I’m working on, it’s less than a millimetre—”

“Can I come up?” Peter’s voice was high and clipped. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Um…yeah? Everything alright?” The call ended, and Tony stood up slowly. In the last few years of knowing Peter, not once had he asked permission to enter the lab. This had initially caused a few issues – who shows up at midnight on a couple’s anniversary?! But Tony soon learned it had become a sort of safe haven for Pete, and was always up for some late-night tinkering. So, what had changed?

Tony stepped through the glass doors dividing science from domestic, entering the living space with a sense of trepidation. The elevator numbers ticked upwards – floor 7, floor 8, floor 9 – and he felt his pulse thrum in his head. Jesus, the kid really knew how to hit every point on the anxiety checklist. The mechanical whirring ground to a halt and the doors clicked open.

Whatever Tony was expecting, it could not have prepared him for what stumbled out. Peter was dripping wet, violently shivering, and completely coated in the jarring red of blood. A once-white shirt was untucked and soaked pink, hair plastered to his forehead, and crimson smeared from chin to forearms. His mouth was hanging open, silently gasping but not finding noise.

“ _Peter_?” Tony’s heart stopped. Breath was knocked out of him. His senses clouded. Shit. Shit. _Shit_. Adrenaline spiked, and Tony launched himself across the room towards the weakened figure outside the elevator. Not Peter – not the fucking kid, dying on _his_ watch—

“ _It’s not mine_.” The small whisper came as Tony froze a mere inch before Peter Parker. A primal moan of relief emitted as he threw himself forward, clutching the wet figure until he felt he might burst. The freezing chest Tony gripped beneath him began to heave, soft sobs filling the apartment’s silence. All he could do was hold on, be the steady force anchoring Pete to the here and now. Peter’s knees buckled, and the pair sunk to the floor, still desperately tangled together.

“I—I w…I—”

Tony shushed, rubbing soothing circles into Peter’s back. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe. You’re safe, Pete.”

Peter continued to cry; convulsing breaths amplified by violent shivering. “I’m so-so sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Tony whispered, “Don’t be sorry.”

They sat in silence for a while, Tony stroking Peter’s hair and struggling to appease the weeping mess in his arms. Concern seeped into his mind surrounding the icy temperature of the boy’s frame, but still felt reluctant to move. When Peter’s breathing began to even out – only a slight hiccup every now and then – Tony pulled away.

“Can I go and get you a blanket? Will you be okay here? I’ll come right back?”

Peter, whose eyes remained firmly affixed to the floor, curled his arms into his chest in a foetal position. He gave a tentative nod. A breath caught in Tony’s throat, but he forced himself to retreat from the soaking mass for the more urgent matter of blanket location. _Shit_. He didn’t want to force it out of the kid, but was anyone hurt? Was _he_ hurt? Did he need to call the police? A thick furry blanket was soon located and hurried back the central living space. Tony swiftly encased the boy in the warm comforter, knowing what he really needed was a dry change of clothes. He crouched, laying a hand on the blanket when satisfied. Peter refused to look at him.

“Pete…” His tone was pleading. “What happened?”

Peter seemed to become overwhelmed by a sudden wave of emotion and squeezed his eyes shut. His heaving breaths returned. A small whine escaped somewhere deep within his chest, and heat pricked at Tony’s eyes. Christ, this was going to be hard.

“Take your time, okay?” But—Are you hurt?” Peter didn’t respond. Tony’s brow furrowed, a note of urgency entering his tone. “Peter, are you _hurt_?”

“No.” His voice was thick. “Not-not really. I—” A trembling hand reached for the back of his head, producing a wince as he felt the base of his skull. His fingers revealed droplets of fresh blood. “It’s just a small cut.”

Tony fought the urge to reprimand Peter for downplaying his pain as he shifted to inspect the damage. “I’m going to have to clean this. The first aid kit’s in the lab – do you think you can move?”

This was met with a determined shake of the head. Tony sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek a little, and sat cross-legged in front of Peter (who was still staring stubbornly at the floor). “Okay. Okay. I’m here, so whenever you feel like telling me—” He waved his arm. “—I’ll be listening.”

There was a minute or so of silence as Peter stewed in his thoughts, during which Tony managed to fall into his usual hole of self-deprecation. _Of course,_ he should have _never_ given the kid a suit, it only encouraged the kind of reckless behaviour that _he_ got into as a teen. And look how he turned out: irresponsible, egotistical, all-round fuck up. It was only a matter of time before Peter got hurt, and yet another kid would enter the poisonous cycle of drink, abuse, and self-hatred—

“It’s all my fault.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Tony’s voice was firm, and a little dark.

“Yes, it is.” Another moment of silence.

“I promise you it’s not.” Tony tilted his head. “Now, would you like to tell me what is _definitely_ not your fault?”

This earned a near-smile from Peter, who wiped his nose and looked at Tony. He cleared his throat. “I missed my bus home from school. I stayed late at the library, so…it got dark. I put my headphones in and started walking. And…and because of that, I didn’t hear—” Peter sharply inhaled. “I didn’t hear the guy getting mugged across the street. Normally I would, you know…” He tugged an earlobe, and Tony gave a solemn nod. “I ran straight over – there was no time to put the suit on – but I guess there was more of them than I could take, and they jumped me. One had a baseball bat and—” He winced, as if in memory of the blow to the head. “When I came around the gang had run, leaving…leaving the poor guy. They stabbed him. I tried – I _really tried_ – to stop the bleeding but—” An invisible force seemed to clench Peter’s lungs, forcing all air out. “He lost a lot before the ambulance arrived. So…so I got in a taxi and came here.”

“Was he gone?” Peter responded with a glassy-eyed shrug.

“Don’t know. I recognised him. He lives down my street.” There was a pause. A bubble of emotion rose in Peter’s throat. “Two daughters.”

Deep-seated anger started to churn within Tony, as if this was his first time realising just how fucked up the universe can be. He ground his jaw, but settled for gripping Peter’s hand and _squeezing_. “Jesus, that’s awful, kid. I’m sorry you had to see that.” He placed a second hand on top of Peter’s. “I’m pleased you came here straight away. Never, _ever_ , apologise for disturbing me with something like this, okay? I mean, you could’ve been injured—” Peter swallowed. “But, and I say this with 100% honesty, that was _absolutely not your fault_.”

“If I didn’t have my earphones in—”

“But you did. And funnily enough, it’s still the fault of the muggers; _not you_.”

Peter averted his gaze. A small voice mumbled “…okay”, and Tony lowered his brow.

“Okay, now we’ve cleared that up, I _really_ need a look at that cut. Can I help you up?”

A head bobbed in reluctant agreement, and Tony offered him an arm. The blanket dropped as the pair hobbled towards the lab, exposing Peter’s still-bloodied clothing – an emotional punch in the gut to Tony. By the time they entered the glass workshop, he had resolved to yell at Fury about crime rates in Queens. More for an emotional release than anything.

“Jump up.” Tony swept various scraps off the workbench and patted the surface. Peter did as he was told. “Now, it’s in here somewhere…” Tony had found the first aid kit and placed it aside, but continued to search through the cupboards in earnest. Upon finding what he was apparently looking for, Tony yanked out three dark items in gleeful triumph. “Tada! Towel, sweatpants, hoodie. Get changed.” This was accompanied by a swift throw; which Peter grudgingly received. The first aid kit – unopened since The Flamethrower Incident™ – was set on the side for Tony to pick through. He got out what seemed the most appropriate: disinfectant, medical dressings, some ointment that looked about ten years old. Self-care never had been Tony’s forte.

As he placed the items onto the counter, Peter had finished cleaning himself off, and was attempting to conceal the sheer exhaustion painted all over his face. He kicked his wet clothes under the bench before hopping back up – _almost_ zipping up his hoodie in time.

“Hang on. What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“On your side. Unzip the jacket.”

“Oh…um…it’s nothing—”

“ _Peter_.” This was Tony’s stern voice, learned from many years watching Pepper dominate boardrooms. Peter’s cheeks tinged pink, and he hid his face like a scolded puppy. The jacket was undone, revealing an angry, bloodshot bruise blooming across most of his abdomen.

“What—” Tony braced himself against the countertop, jabbing an accusatory finger towards the mark. “—Is that? And why didn’t you mention it before?” He grabbed an antiseptic wipe to disinfect his hands, eyeing the swelling with a wary suspicion. “You said they hit your head!”

“Yeah, they did!” Peter wrinkled his forehead in urgency. “They just…hit a couple other places first!”

Tony gave a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. He pushed the jacket aside, allowing him to skim a gentle thumb across the broken skin. His eyes squinted, nose twitching in absolute focus. Carefully applying more pressure, as if to test out the terrain, he glanced up at Peter’s face. It was contorted in pain.

“Well, I was going to say it’s broken ribs, but it looks like you already know that!"

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m serious, Pete. For all I know, this could be internal bleeding—”

“Internal—what?” Peter’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, before he served a teenage roll of the eyes. “That-that’s a bit dramatic. Look, just—” He fished out a cold pack and batted Tony’s meddling hands away. “It’s fine,” he asserted, slapping the pack onto his side with more than a hint of sarcasm, “I _actually_ heal _really_ fast.”

“ _It’s fine!_ ” Tony mocked, pulling a face as he produced a new wipe. He leaned up to tap Peter’s head, which was reluctantly lowered to allow access. Tony began cleaning the wound with a little extra aggression.

“Ow.”

Peter knew he was getting on Tony’s nerves at this point. Perhaps it was the pent-up frustration from this evening’s recent beating, or the heady emotions simmering just below the surface. But he simply couldn’t help emitting a melodramatic hiss when the antiseptic hit the wrong spot.

“Oh, come on!”

“You’re hurting—”

“You do it then!” The cloth was thrown down onto the counter as Tony stood back, jaw twitching. His heated irritation was definitely symptomatic of underlying upset.

Peter removed his ice pack to begin sponging at the cut, shooting Tony a measured glance. The man had his arms crossed and was staring at Peter’s purpling midsection like it had personally offended him. Maybe it was the recent head injury talking, but words seemed to fall out of Peter’s mouth before he could stop them. “You can’t just wrap me in cotton wool all the time. This was my decision.”

Tony looked stunned. “Pardon?”

“I just…I knew what I was doing when I went after those guys.” He began trying to open a dressing, but unsteady fingers made it difficult.

“What, without the suit on? You’re telling me you _knew_ the risks and still went after them?”

“I _knew_ that a man needed my help!” Peter gave up with the dressing and shoved it in Tony’s direction. It was snatched from him and hastily ripped open.

“Give the saviour complex a rest, Pete. There’s nothing wrong with hanging back if you’re in civvies. I mean you never know—” Tony cut himself off, wanting to say more but refusing to let it out. This was a habit that _really_ infuriated Peter.

“No, go on? What, maybe if I had held back, dialled 911 and just watched the guy get jumped, maybe he’d be safe now?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Or-or maybe if I rang you, you could’ve swept in and saved the day? Well, there wasn’t time for that!” Peter felt himself slipping more and more towards hysteria.

“No!” This came out louder than Tony intended. He unstuck the backing from the bandage. “I am just _trying_ to point out that you need to consider your _own_ safety in these situations.”

“What, like you’ve _ever_ done that, Mr Suicide Mission?” Peter’s pitch was elevated. “What’s your count now? Three times? Four?”

This hit a nerve. Peter watched as something changed behind Tony’s eyes. It struck him, in that moment, that Tony looked the closest to Howard that Peter had ever seen. Perhaps Tony had realised that, too, as his heavy breathing became somewhat regulated. His next response was low and controlled.

“Peter.” Tony paused for a second, then reached upwards towards the offending wound. Peter swivelled on the desk in response, pulling his knees up so that he was facing away from the measured voice, allowing better access for his medic. “ _Please_ understand that I feel somewhat responsible for encouraging a teenager to run towards battles that aren’t his to fight.” Tony’s hands made precise work of applying the bandage.

“Ha – like that’s been an issue for you before.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Peter felt the delicate movements behind his head falter. He didn’t dare breathe. This wasn’t how he thought his night would end – some dumb disagreement with the man who’d abandoned everything to help him. He was _such_ an ass. The fingers resumed their task in silence, leaving Peter cursing silently at his outburst.

“I just want you to be safe.” The voice was so small it was almost inaudible. Peter gave a slow inhale.

“And I want _other people_ to be safe.”

Tony seemed to be finished with his work, as Peter heard him step away. There was quiet. After a while, Peter assumed Tony had left the room, so began to shift. He soon froze again as he felt warm arms wrap around him (carefully avoiding the bruise), and the pressure of Tony’s chest on his back. The two breathed in sync for a moment. Tony placed his head against Peter’s back, and Peter took his hand. The stuttering movement of the cool arc reactor betrayed Tony’s distress, even through the thick hoodie.

“I can’t lose you, kid—” Tony’s voice faltered as his throat cracked. He attempted to breathe deeply, but wet emotion resonated deep from within his lungs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. For being an idiot and causing an argument.” Peter held Tony’s hand close to his chest. “Thank you.”

This gratitude held unspoken depths – for patching him up, for looking out for him, for holding Peter to the ground when the world felt like it might dissolve. Whispered thanks on a lab worktop contained more than could ever be conveyed in a thousand words. But it was enough.

“Jesus, Pete,” Tony mumbled, “Sometimes you’re too selfless for your own good.”

“Well, I learnt from the best.” Peter gave a slight smile, and Tony hugged him tightly. The rain outside continued to fall.

 “Right.” Tony withdrew, clearing his throat. “Now get that ice onto your side.” Peter turned around, just in time to see Tony paw at his eyes.

“Yes, _mom_.”

“Hmm.” There was a smirk. Tony scratched the base of his neck. “Jurassic Park is on Netflix. Ice cream?”

Peter picked up the cold pack, rubbing at his own puffy face. Maybe someday he wouldn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. But for now, he could get by. He smiled. “Ice cream.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love some basic-ass, slightly domestic Pete & Tony.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you did :)


End file.
